


Lollipop

by RRHood



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Feminization, Grooming, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder, Oral Fixation, Pedophilia, Sexual Abuse, Starvation, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RRHood/pseuds/RRHood
Summary: Jordan was twelve years old. At the end of the school year, only half a month away, he would be going into seventh grade.Then he met Lawrence. Lawrence was a grown-up. And he always had lollipops.





	

He was always there, at the park outside his school. Long hair, stubble on his chin, wide across the shoulders. His presence was never threatening, and after several weeks, Jordy had grown comfortable with the stranger’s pale eyes on him. He would watch the petite brunette boy sit on the swings as he waited for his mother to come pick him up.

Jordan was twelve years old. At the end of the school year, only half a month away, he would be going into seventh grade.

*

Under his weight, the weakened chains of the swing creaked, slender and small hands wringing in his lap. Jordy’s hair was getting a bit shaggy, curling in gentle waves on his neck, chestnut eyes listlessly watching the ground. It had been a difficult day, again...the boys in his classes liked to tease him, shove him about on the playground, because he was a great deal smaller than they were. He looked different. His eyes were too wide, features too delicate – even buried under his soccer jersey and bulky khaki shorts, Jordan looked like...a _girl_.

And now...after such a terrible day...the man wasn’t even there. He couldn’t feel his stare, which he’d always secretly believed was _always_ on him, watching over like a guardian angel.

His eyes had begun to well. He didn’t even know his name, but Jordan had started to regard him as a friend. No one else paid attention to him the way _he_ did. No one at school...his teachers didn’t care...and his parents were always so busy.

They didn’t trust him, either. Perhaps, if they did, he could have taken the school bus with the other children. They could have given him a key, and let him stay home alone for an hour until his mother was finished at work. The house was safe. It had security systems, and plenty of room to hide, in the unthinkable event that someone burst in. Jordan’s parents made a lot of money...and his knowledge of the world didn’t allow for ‘bad’ people.

Just mean schoolmates and adults who didn’t seem to want to pay him much attention.

The chains creaked suddenly as large, solid hands landed on Jordy’s hips, pulling the swing back slightly and letting go. Immediately, he clung to the chains, startled, glancing back over his shoulder.

It was him. He hadn’t abandoned Jordy after all. Unknowingly, he smiled, warmth trickling into his gaze to replace the tears.

The man didn’t smile back. He just looked at him, very intent.

“Hi,” Jordy said brightly. Pallid grey locked with chocolate brown, and he imagined there was a flicker of a greeting grin brewing.

He wasn’t deterred by his silence.

“I’m Jordy,” he supplied, hoping to hear the man speak. “What’s your name?”

Again, he was silent – all Jordy heard was the ongoing buzz of warm weather, and the rustling of the man’s hand sliding into his pocket, fingers curling around a lump there. He was wearing dark jeans, and Jordy thought they had to be uncomfortable, in the encroaching summer heat. The man took a few slow steps around the swing, moving in front of Jordy and crouching down, becoming level with him.

He withdrew the lump from his pocket – a round, cherry red lollipop.

Jordy observed with bewildered wide eyes as thick fingers unwrapped the clear plastic from around the candy, dropping the litter into the sand and holding it up, pressing it gently against the boy’s lower lip. Blinking once, Jordy’s lips parted, accepting the gift; the lollipop was being lightly pushed into his mouth, and to further his confusion, it was withdrawn slightly right after. The man slowly and gently repeated the motion, watching Jordy’s mouth as it moved in and out a few more times.

Even though he was still confused, Jordy didn’t think to wonder why he was doing that. He just sucked on the cherry candy, savouring the sugar on his tongue, lips turning red.

Finally, the man relented, letting go of the white plastic stick and letting Jordy’s hand wind around it instead, contently lapping his tongue up the candy.

“I’m Lawrence,” he finally spoke, and while his voice wasn’t anything like how Jordy guessed it would be – it was raspy, clipped, and tainted with something heavy he couldn’t identify – it was nice, nonetheless. Jordy’s lips twitched around the lollipop stick.

His name was Lawrence. Jordy had never heard that name before, on anyone. He knew he wouldn’t forget it.

Lawrence’s hand twitched, moving as though about to touch the boy, but he didn’t. Instead he grasped his own knee as he pushed himself back up, onto his feet.

“Do you want me to bring you another one tomorrow?”

Jordy nodded contently. Lawrence didn’t say anything else, still staring at him as though he was looking right into him, eventually walking too far away from him to keep Jordy in his sights. Vice versa applied, and he felt a little let down to see him go.

From around the corner, his mother’s blue car rounded to a stop in front of the school playground. Jordy got up, sand and the plastic wrapper tickling his feet through his sandals, and he took off towards the car at a run. He wanted to get home. He wanted tomorrow to come faster.

His mother peered at him in the rear-view mirror as he climbed into the backseat.

“Where’d you get the candy...?”

“My friend gave it to me.” Jordy sucked and savoured the cherry taste for the length of the car drive home.

*

From then on, Lawrence always brought him candy. Most often, they were lollipops, but sometimes he brought him other things...pieces of chocolate that would melt in his mouth and on his lips, or long sticks of candy that he would run his tongue up the full length of, or suck until the end was a narrow point. Once or twice, on particularly hot days, he brought him a popsicle.

He didn’t often talk, but Jordy didn’t mind. He let Jordy talk, pouring out his thoughts, his miseries, the experiences that had brought him the most joy.

On the final day of school, he felt a mix of those two – misery and joy.

“Why are you sad?”

Lawrence’s eyes were boring holes into him, penetrating him that may have been unsettling to anyone who was unused to it. Jordy knew that was just the way he looked at him.

“I...” he awkwardly pressed the tip of his sandal into the hot sand, burying his toes, “I don’t want school to end...I have to go to a different school next year...”

He gazed upwards at Lawrence, biting his lip and twirling the lollipop stick between his fingers. He looked pleading.

“What if I don’t ever, never see you again?” his voice had grown childishly small, and to console himself, he pressed his lollipop back into his mouth.

One of Lawrence’s large hands rested in his dark hair, the weight of it even more comforting to Jordy than the candy.

“...If you tell me where you live, you can see me every day.”

Jordy lit up, and didn’t think twice.

*

There were nights when both his parents were out; that used to upset Jordy. But now, he’d learned to look forward to them.

Jordy always called Lawrence, never the other way around. He’d told the boy that he couldn’t call, just in case one of his parents picked up the phone. He said they had to be secret friends. He didn’t mind, because it was exciting. It was _fun_ ; a game. He sneaked the phone out of the kitchen, dialled the number he’d stowed under his mattress, and waiting eagerly for Lawrence to pick up. He never let it ring past the second or third low tone.

Then the night would come. His parents would get dressed up and leave, Jordy would lock their yappy Yorkshire terrier in the basement, and unlock the back door. Then, twenty or so minutes later, Lawrence would arrive.

Jordy threw his arms around his thick waist, appreciating his solid build, and happily began to lead him upstairs to his bedroom. For whatever reason, Lawrence liked it best up there. He didn’t understand why, since it wasn’t special, but he never contested it.

This time, however, Lawrence seemed to have another idea.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked, arm lifting. There was a plastic bag hanging there; in his eagerness, Jordy hadn’t noticed it, but now his curiosity swelled.

“It’s over here,” he wrapped his hands around one of Lawrence’s, taking him to the clean white-tiled room instead. It was larger than it needed to be, the bathtub at one far corner and a shower in the other, fresh flowers in a tall vase by the marble counter and sink. His mother loved flowers. Jordy didn’t. They were too breakable.

Lawrence closed the door behind them. Jordy wasn’t sure why, there was no threat of interruption. Dropping the bag onto the counter, he leaned down and grasped the hem of the boy’s shirt, beginning to pull it upwards. Startled, Jordy tried to hold it down.

“What’re you doing...?”

There was no use; Lawrence jerked his shirt up and off, bundling it in both hands and tossing it to the corner, as though it disgusted him.

“We’re going to make you prettier,” he told him – Jordy shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was the tone of his voice, or the air conditioning sliding over his bared skin. “Don’t you want to be prettier?”

“The boys at school used to say I look like a girl,” he mumbled, embarrassed. Girls were considered ‘pretty’, and as much as he coloured at the comment, he didn’t want to be, if it meant he was...feminine.

“I like it,” Lawrence said firmly, “and I’ll like you even better once I’m done. Do you want me to like you?”

No hesitation: “Yes.”

He supposed it was different, if Lawrence liked him that way.

A box was taken out of the plastic bag, words and instructions written all over the sides. The only one Jordy caught sight of was ‘bleach’, before the box was ripped apart, torn open to get to the various bottles inside it.

With Lawrence’s assurance that he would be improved, better liked, he moved compliantly as directed. He was directed to kneel over the bathtub, dark eyes tightly closed as something cold was dripped into his hair, rubbed into the brunette locks, filling the room with a strong too-clean scent. His scalp burned as the minutes dragged on, as did the spots on his neck the cold substance had dripped.

He had to close his eyes even more tightly once the water started, blasting hard and cold. Jordy was pushed underneath the stream, and he was starting to see spots. He didn’t dare open them, though, for fear of getting any of the bleach in his eyes.

Eventually – it could have been an hour, that passed – Jordy was tugged back, and soothingly, Lawrence massaged him, hands running through his wet hair, petting him. He still felt a bit of a sting, in places, but the freezing water had cooled the sensation for the most part. He shivered, a chill wracking his entire body.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair had turned shockingly pale, almond-blonde, a stark colour. It looked bizarre, to him.

But Lawrence seemed pleased. His gaze roved from the top of his head down to his chest. The cold had Jordy’s nipples stiff and pert, and he wasn’t concealing them from view, even as his arms wound around himself in an attempt to warm up.

One of the thick, fluffy towels was pulled from the rack, Lawrence draping it over Jordy. The now-blonde appeared grateful, tugging it over his wet tresses.

“There,” Lawrence muttered, and his voice was huskier than usual. “Now you’re pretty.”

*

His parents demanded answers the next day. Jordy didn’t know what to tell them, so he didn’t tell them anything.

They didn’t go out again for a long while.

*

Jordy had become desperate, over the last few weeks. He’d sneaked phone calls twice, three times, four times a day...but without being able to see Lawrence, he was becoming a wreck. He spent nearly all his time locked up in his room, sometimes crying, sometimes playing. He had dolls – he used to call them action figures – and he would kneel in front of his bed, making up wistful stories influenced by the movies he used to watch when he was younger.

He felt like a princess, trapped inside a terrible tower with his wicked parents lurking downstairs, keeping his knight at bay. The more his longing grew, the more difficult it became to distinguish what it was he missed most about Lawrence.

The way he would touch him; firmly, like he knew Jordy was strong enough not to break, while everyone else seemed to think him so delicate. The way he would talk to him; directly, almost forcibly, like he regarded Jordy as an adult and not a silly child. The way he looked at him; as if he _needed_ Jordy around, not like he was exasperating, or a burden.

It was a little past noon.

“Jordy!” his mother was calling him. “Can you take Pippi for a walk?”

Downstairs, the terrier was barking and squeaking wildly, and he could almost dimly hear her nails scratching and tapping against the hardwood floors as she raced about energetically. He dropped his toys; anything to silence the creature.

Opening his door, he padded barefoot down the stairs, the obnoxious terrier scuttling towards him, yapping at him. He ignored her, walking towards the back door and slipping on his sandals. His mother was close behind him, cooing at the dog until she held still, allowing her to clip the collar to a leash.

She handed the other end to Jordy, giving him an almost stern stare. “Don’t be too long. And don’t leave the neighbourhood, I don’t want you getting lost...”

“Okay,” he replied listlessly, opening the door and gripping the leash’s loop. Pippi raced out, tugged back by the leash’s short length, forced to walk at Jordy’s pace. Every step dragged a little, the cheery day doing nothing for his disposition. Pippi raced around his ankles, nearly tripping him once or twice, and he entertained the notion of kicking her the next time she made a nuisance of herself.

He walked the long, stretching plane of the sidewalk to the very end of the block, turning back around once he reached the stop sign and crosswalk. There were no cars, on such a lazy day. It was hard for Jordy to remember during summer vacation, but he was fairly certain it was a weekday.

Strange, that his mother was home. His father may have been, too. He hadn’t thought to check.

As they drew closer to the tall house Jordy called home, Pippi began to bark wildly again. Chocolate brown eyes lifted from the ground, looking for the stranger that had set her off in such a way.

It was him. Lawrence. He was at the end of the street.

Jordy’s heart lifted. Promptly, he let the leash slip from his fingers, taking off at a run. His sandals slipped off somewhere along the way, but he didn’t care. Pippi was still barking, somewhere behind him, but she was too cowardly to chase after him and tear into the unfamiliar man. After a few moments, she stopped. Jordy didn’t care why.

He nearly fell into Lawrence’s open arms, sighing blissfully when his arms wrapped around him tightly. No fear of hurting him, or crushing him; if anything, he was holding too tightly, but Jordy didn’t mind. He preferred it that way...it was familiar.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “They never leave anymore and I wanted you to come over but you said-...you said you had to be a secret...”

Lawrence’s grip was lessening, one of his hands cupping his chin instead. His thumb was resting against Jordy’s lips, but it didn’t remain that way for long, forcing them apart and pressing the thick digit inside.

Jordy didn’t know what to do with it there...but he barely paid it any heed. Lawrence seemed to know what he wanted, anyway, brushing his thumb over the boy’s tongue. He tasted of salt, and something else unrecognisable.

His stolen ability to speak didn’t matter. Lawrence was here, and he wasn’t angry with him.

“ _Jordy!_ ”

Lawrence’s thumb was wrenched out of his mouth. Jordy’s mother was running towards them, front door thrown wide open. He was bolting before the blonde even had time to whimper, tearing down the street as Jordy’s mother descended on her son, tugging him towards her, a stricken expression on her face.

He didn’t understand why she looked so horrified. All he knew was that she had driven Lawrence away.

A surge of hatred overcame him, crawling up his throat like bile, but he didn’t give into the urge to shove her away.

*

He had been punished; two weeks’ worth of grounding, and vicious questions about Lawrence from his parents. She had told his father what she’d seen, when he got home from work, and he had reacted just as strongly.

Jordy had also been screamed at for losing the dog. Pippi had run away when he’d gone to Lawrence. He was personally satisfied that _something_ had been accomplished, on his walk. He despised that dog. Besides, she had her collar and leash.

He’d reached his limit, had enough. He refused to remain a prisoner, anymore...he wanted to be with Lawrence, not his tyrannical parents who would go so far as to keep him away from his friend.

Jordy had crept downstairs and smuggled the phone to his bedroom. It was past midnight. His parents were deeply asleep, after hours of arguing and talking and whispering. He drew his knees up to his chest, dialling the familiar number and pressing the phone against his ear.

He hoped Lawrence would pick up. He hoped he wouldn’t be mad.

The other end picked up, and there was silence. Jordy whispered, “Lawrence...?”

“ _Yeah.”_

Jordy relaxed slightly, having been momentarily petrified he’d dialled wrong.

“I-...I need you,” he murmured. “I want to go live with you...can I...?” There was quiet on the other end for too long, only the sound of Lawrence’s breathing to let him know he was still there. He curled in on himself more, begging, “Please...?”

“ _...Sneak out in an hour. I’ll come get you. You better not fucking keep me waiting.”_

“I won’t,” Jordy flushed, exhilaration making his heart beat faster. Lawrence was coming to get him; he’d never have to stay with anyone else ever again.

He hung up, and began to pack what few possessions he needed.

*

It had been easy, slipping out of the house. He hadn’t brought his key, or anything he thought could be traced. The only things he’d bothered with were Lawrence’s phone number, taken just in case his bedroom was searched once his disappearance was discovered, and money.

The latter had pleased Lawrence. He seemed even more pleased to hear that Jordy hadn’t thought to bring clothing.

His large hand held the blonde boy’s, walking briskly and forcing him into a jog to keep up. It was a long walk, well over the allotted hour Lawrence had given him. Jordy didn’t recognise the part of town they were in, the buildings, even the scent. Everything smelled like smoke and dirt, but Jordy didn’t care. It was with Lawrence, and that was all that mattered.

The dingy apartment building had poorly lit hallways, the light bulb hanging from the ceiling in front of Lawrence’s door flickering occasionally, threatening to plunge them into darkness. There were stains on the carpet, and the brass doorknob was rusted. The lock squeaked piercingly as the key was shoved inside and turned.

Within the apartment itself, it was even shabbier. Something – strips of paper, it looked like to Jordy – littered the coffee table, the dark couch stained in spots. All the blinds were drawn, and the lights were all out.

Abruptly, Jordy was whirled around, hands brought down on his shoulders with such an impact that it made his knees tremble.

“You don’t call your parents,” Lawrence ordered harshly. “You don’t talk to anyone you used to know. You’re all fucking _mine_ now, and you do everything I say, that clear?”

Jordy’s lips parted, but there was no sound – why did he even need to say such things? Didn’t he know how badly Jordy just wanted to be with him...?

“Don’t gape like a fucking idiot, _tell me_ that’s _clear_.”

“It’s clear,” he exhaled, and was relieved when Lawrence pulled his body flush against his.

*

By the end of the week, Jordy had been bought new clothing. Tiny shorts and panties, loose flowing shirts that barely hung on his frame, thin lacy socks and slippers.

That same week, Lawrence started letting him sleep on his bed. Not beside him; he was to stay at the very foot of the bed, so that he could be kicked when the man woke. He didn’t like Jordy to sleep any longer than he did.

Before summer ended, he enrolled Jordy in the seventh grade. Jordy didn’t want to go, but it gave him something to look forward to at the end of each school day: coming home to Lawrence, who would kiss him and fuck him and torture him until he promised he would skip the following day. Sometimes, he would torture him even after.

Jordy was never frightened by his beatings or cruelty. The threats to not feed him weren’t taken as true threats, and when he was locked for days inside Lawrence’s closet or tied for hours to his bed, he didn’t mind.

It made him feel loved. Never scared.

Somewhere along the line, that changed.

*

Jordy’s wrists were raw from rope burn, scratches lightly bleeding. Lawrence had untied him, eventually. After twelve hours.

He’d missed school. He’d had a test. It wasn’t like it truly mattered, he was already failing...but it was an annoyance, that he hadn’t even been allowed to go. Lawrence was naked, sated, having used him until he bled. The man didn’t seem to enjoy it, anymore, unless he ended up bleeding.

“...Lawrence?”

Jordy’s voice was soft; he didn’t want to disturb his lover’s afterglow. He was promptly cuffed for speaking, however, Lawrence’s hand connecting with his chin. He bowed his head slightly, but continued. If all he’d received was a strike, he can’t have minded too much.

“Next time, can you untie me for school?”

There was a faint growl, and again Jordy was smacked, this time hard enough to send him into the wall. His head connected with the surface, sending an ache running through him, lips pulling into a wince.

“Are you _talking back_ to me?” Lawrence’s hand was shoved under his chin, seizing his throat tightly. Jordy coughed, choking. “Are you telling _me_ what you want me to do?”

‘Talking back’ to him...Jordy never could understand the difference between what was impertinent, and what was merely hopeful.

He tried to shake his head. There it was again – fear, clamping an unnatural, clammy hand on his heart. He didn’t feel loved, or wanted, just wary. Tension climbed up his body, heart pumping audibly in his ears.

Lawrence continued to squeeze, and his voice was full of something cold.

“Back-talk me again, and I’ll fucking murder you.”

His blood ran cold through his veins, and he couldn’t hear his heart anymore. Lawrence’s voice had taken on an echoing quality, and fuzzy grey was beginning to slide over his eyes.

“I could even do it now, you stupid slut, and no one would care.”

Jordy began to thrash, nails clawing at his fingers, his wrists. Lawrence’s grip lifted, but he no longer cared. The only comprehensible words were _‘I’ll fucking murder you.’_

He couldn’t let it happen. Jordy didn’t want to be scared.

The rope was ripped from the bed and tugged around Lawrence’s throat. Jordy was hit, and thrown, but he only pulled harder. Everything was happening in a blur; he was on Lawrence’s back, pulling, _pulling_ , and Lawrence was stumbling and crashing into the wall, forcing pain up Jordy’s spine and bruising him, and he still didn’t let go-...

And then Jordy tumbled off his back, crashing to the floor.

Lawrence had gone still.

Hot tears ran down Jordy’s paled cheeks, limp against the wall. His airway still ached with every ragged breath. Lawrence was still...unmoving, face purpled, and a deep red line – like a gash – across his neck.

He’d killed someone.

He’d killed _Lawrence_...and god, how he’d loved him...

And god...it had felt...so _good_. Jordy felt almost giddy, overcome with greater joy than he could remember...ever. A few weakened giggles escaped him, breathing still staggered and faint. He crawled forward tentatively.

Fear again. Maybe Lawrence was sleeping.

Gently, his hand lay against his neck, searching for a pulse...even the faintest indication... He was still warm, and it was a nice feeling. The warmth of his skin, without that blackened, beating heart. Lawrence’s eyes were bulging, paler than Jordy had ever seen them, frozen in a shocked glower.

He was truly dead.

*

It had been two days. The body hadn’t even started to smell.

Jordy lugged his body over his shoulders, stumbling like a drunk and manoeuvring through the shadows to the graveyard less than a block away. He had waited, and in such a crime-heavy area of town, he thankfully hadn’t had to wait for long.

A hole had been dug for a grave. The funeral was probably going to take place tomorrow morning.

Adrenaline hummed through his body, making the young teenager’s trek easier. Lawrence’s dragging feet made tracks in the grass, but he didn’t think anyone would notice.

He dumped the body into the ground, kneeling at the side of the hole, staring down into the grave. He didn’t feel anything. Certainly no regret.

Milky-white hands began to dig through soil, beginning to cover Lawrence’s corpse, and all the while he hummed a love song under his breath. The dirt was slightly wet; it packed together well, a quality he was glad for. He didn’t want the body surfacing overnight. The soil fell over the dead, open eyes, white fingertips steadily tainted by black-brown, getting under his nails, on his clothes.

He didn’t mind. This feeling was _much_ better than feeling wanted or loved.

Jordy was thirteen. At the end of the school year, in a month and a half, he would be going into eighth grade.

 


End file.
